


Speaker for the Dead (is a part of many high school curricula)

by EmptyWithoutMe



Series: Dust to Dust [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (! fic title has no relevance to fic contents aside from a few similar trigger warnings), Andrew and Aaron are so careful with each other here, Fluff and Angst, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 22:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmptyWithoutMe/pseuds/EmptyWithoutMe
Summary: Andrew thinks that Neil is here while they do—this-- in order to keep Andrew from hurting Aaron, but the real reason (as Aaron had explained tersely when he’d caught Neil at the end of practice and asked him for his time) is to protect Andrew.





	Speaker for the Dead (is a part of many high school curricula)

Rustle.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Rustle, creak. A wet, dragging smack.  
  
“Yes.”

Rustle: the scratch of pilled-up fleece against leg hair.  
  
“Yes _, Andrew_ , would you stop fucking checking every three seconds!”  
  
“Don’t ask him that,” Neil says from the chair in the corner. Aaron _knows_ that, the asshole. He’s just…impatient.  
  
Nervous.  
  
“Get off my dick, Neil,” he says out loud.  
  
“As if I’d go anywhere near it,” Neil says with similar distaste. He’s got his skinny legs folded in a complicated pose beneath him. Aaron wants to tell him to put on some long pants, for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t need to see that much thigh. Andrew is degrees more tense above him, though, and Aaron has a feeling that too much bitching will get him shoved off the bed. The shit that he puts up with for this. Honestly.  
  
It would be so much easier if he made Neil go away, but that’s the point. Andrew thinks that Neil is here while they do—this – in order to keep Andrew from hurting Aaron, but the real reason (as Aaron had explained tersely when he’d caught Neil at the end of practice and asked him for his time) is to protect Andrew. Aaron is perfectly safe; his brother might stab him, but there’s not an ice pack’s chance in hell that he’d hurt Aaron like _this_. On the other hand, there’s Aaron who has been stumbling unintentionally through Andrew’s boundaries since day one. Andrew had too much touch, growing up, and Aaron not enough; he doesn’t trust himself to keep still if things get intense. So Neil’s there to keep things from getting intense. Aaron’s not going to lose himself to lustful rapture with Neil’s stupid face in the corner judging him and putting him off tomorrow’s cereal.  
  
“Am I boring you?” Andrew asks. He’s the one who sounds bored. Aaron snaps his attention back to Andrew, catching the dangerous glint in his eye even with the blinds blocking out most of the sun. He suppresses a hot shiver.  
  
“Yeah,” Aaron says. “I’m not a _virgin_.”  
  
“Neither am I.”  
  
He’d only said that to make Aaron feel bad, and it’s working. Andrew’s an asshole too. “If you want to stop, stop. If you don’t, get a motherfucking move on.”  
  
Andrew doesn’t deign to answer in words. He narrows his eyes, nose sliding along Aaron’s, and slowly drops his weight back down so they’re chest-to-chest again, stomach-to-stomach, groin-to-groin. Both of Andrew’s legs fit between Aaron’s, because Aaron’s being _nice_ and making _room_ for him. The dorm thermostat is fucked, as always, so the body heat of another person is enough to make Aaron’s sweatpants clammy and damp. He would have taken them off ages ago but he’s not sure Andrew’s ready for that.  
  
“If I take off your pants, ye—”  
  
Oh. “ _Yes,”_ Aaron snaps. As much as he regrets the loss of Andrew surrounding him, the air against his bare legs feels so much better than being trapped in humid cotton. A tiny sigh leaves his mouth before he can swallow it, his legs shifting wider in comfort. Aaron bites the inside of his cheek, but Andrew has heard—Aaron is still not used to the fact that Andrew has always heard—and he touches the tips of his fingers to the hinge at the side of Aaron’s knee. He’s so obviously satisfied when Aaron’s leg twitches that Aaron wants to hit him.  
  
“Nice underwear,” says Neil.  
  
“They were _on sale_.”  
  
“Don’t get your teenage mutant ninja turtles in a twist.”  
  
Before Aaron can think up an answer stronger than “fuck you,” Andrew grunts in an _I’m done with you both_ way and kisses him. Aaron subsides gladly. There are few things he’d rather be doing than kissing Andrew, and “speaking to Neil Josten” does not make that list.  
  
Embarrassing pattern or not, boxers are considerably thinner than sweatpants, and Aaron is starting to struggle with remaining calm about the obvious, if still soft, shape of Andrew’s cock against his through Andrew’s own pants. Especially when Andrew strokes the back of his hand up Aaron’s neck and pulls hard at his lower lip with his teeth. Aaron’s head falls back, digging into the pillow, and for a sharp burst of time all he can feel is the slide of Andrew’s knuckles over his jugular.  
  
“Neck fetish. Andrew has one of those too,” Neil pipes up (not) helpfully. Aaron pants through his nose and contemplates pushing Neil out of the window so he doesn’t moan, or get instantly hard. Andrew uncurls his fist and sweeps the pad of his thumb from Aaron’s collar to his jaw, and then bows his head and follows the same path with his tongue, and fuck, nope, even defenestration won’t save Aaron now.  
  
“Shit.” His voice is shaking.  
  
Andrew’s teeth are bare against Aaron’s throat in an instant of warning before they sink in, suction following. Aaron’s hips press up and there’s no _way_ Andrew can’t feel that, but Andrew smoothly hitches his knees under himself to move out of the way, and Aaron barely keeps from cursing him out. The low throb in his gut is not pleased to be left wanting.  
  
“Behave,” Andrew murmurs against Aaron’s skin, breath cooling the saliva left there. Aaron closes his eyes and tips his head back further, hating himself for how easy he is. Only for Andrew.  
  
“He’s awfully quiet,” Neil says thoughtfully, as Andrew sets about making a methodological mess of Aaron’s neck, and his patience. “Why do you think that is, ‘Drew? I’d say his mom taught him manners, but we all know that isn’t true.”  
  
Aaron is going to kill Neil for bringing up his fucking mom at a time like this. Once he’s done shaking to pieces. Andrew has barely done anything yet, what the hell.  
  
“Neil,” Andrew says, warning. Aaron could kiss him, and so he tries, but Andrew is more interested in pulling down the collar of his shirt to suck yet another bruise into the hollow above his collarbone. If Aaron doesn’t get some kind of pressure to grind up against he’s going to _die._  
  
“More,” he grits out, his teeth clenched so tightly he can feel them squeak. “I need—yes, for chrissake.”  
  
Andrew raises an eyebrow, mocking, and later Aaron will have a breakdown psychoanalyzing while he finds that so hot but right now this is the most impatient he’s been in bed since the first time he got Stephanie Baker alone on her parents’ couch when he was 16. Andrew’s body dips to the side above his, his shirt dragging against Aaron’s, warmth shifting; his breath harsh against Aaron’s ear as he rights himself, and then, there it is, the firm pressure of his hand against the front of Aaron’s boxers. Aaron almost chokes. Every single red blood cell in his body has relocated to his dick.  
  
“Calm down,” Andrew says evenly. He keeps his hand steady. It’s the first bordering-on-gentle thing he’s said to Aaron all night, and Aaron gets the heaving of his chest under control from the sheer novelty of it. He eases the bear-trap clamp of his teeth and lets his lip roll back out from between them, feeling skinned and tender. Andrew’s eyes flicker down to it.  
  
“Andrew,” Aaron whispers on a sigh, because he’s an asshole, three. Andrew’s entire body jerks above him. The world reshapes itself around the knowledge of the action.  
  
So slowly Aaron wants to cry, Andrew moves his hand up, up to the waistband of the stupid ninja turtle boxers. The tip of his thumb curls underneath, pulling the elastic away from Aaron’s body. His index finger follows. Aaron’s abdomen is clenched with the effort of not bucking up. Middle finger; Andrew’s eyes never leave Aaron’s, burning. Ring finger, the edge of a nail sharp for just a moment. Aaron is dizzy. Pinkie finger, and then for a quarter of a fateful inch, they all work together to pull down.  
  
It is unspeakably embarrassing to say out loud, but there is not anything, now, that Aaron will not do for Andrew; not anything either that he will not do to get Andrew’s hand on his dick as soon as possible. He works his tongue to gather moisture in his parched mouth, enough to whisper: “ _I need you to touch me_.”  
  
Andrew does.  
  
It’s too dry. Aaron can tell immediately. Andrew’s fist is loose, the insides of his fingers barely touching him, and yet Aaron has to slam his hips down into the mattress to keep from fucking into Andrew’s hold. It’s nowhere near enough. Any more would be actually uncomfortable. Aaron doesn’t know if his dick is especially sensitive today or what, but he can already feel it chafing.  
  
“Can you—lube?”  
  
Both Andrew’s eyebrows raise this time. “Not good enough for you?” His hand keeps stroking, maddeningly light, dispassionately languid.  
  
Aaron wants to look down to see if Andrew is getting off on this. He doesn’t.  
  
“I hate you, you know that?” It’s much less vehement than Aaron would like, forced between gasps as it is. His thighs are cramping with how tightly he’s clenching them.  
  
Andrew’s mouth tightens. Aaron can _feel_ him stop breathing.  
  
“You’re good,” says Neil’s voice. Aaron had almost forgotten he was here. Shit. “He’s okay, Andrew.”  
  
Like fuck Aaron is. He’d never known you could get blue balls in less than two hours. It seems Neil’s good for something, however (not that Aaron will ever admit it), because the words push Andrew into motion again, his chest expanding suddenly and his hand leaving Aaron’s dick (Aaron will also never admit to the soft and high-pitched whine he makes at the loss) and fumbling around the window ledge that serves as his bedside table. Aaron has a moment to be impressed-slash-pissed that Andrew can open flipcaps one-handed before the squeeze bottle makes a disgusting farting noise.  
  
Neil’s _snrk_ of amusement doesn’t try to be subtle. Aaron and Andrew twist their heads to glare at him in the same motion, and Neil holds up his palms, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. Maybe that’s why when Andrew’s hand tightens around Aaron again (getting lube all over the inside of his boxers, gross), it’s _too_ tight, squeezing just shy of painful. Aaron grunts, jerking away. So, of course, Andrew does too.  
  
“Wait, just, not so hard,” Aaron says quickly, hands leaving their tangle in the sheets to hover around Andrew’s shoulders, reaching. Andrew stares down at him for a long moment, jaw clenched, and then blessedly re-settles himself. He ghosts a kiss against Aaron’s forehead and for the third time takes Aaron in hand. He watches Aaron’s face as he closes his fist, stopping when Aaron nods.  
  
(So apparently both Neil and Roland like it rough. That is more about either of them than Aaron ever wanted to know.)  
  
Andrew strokes up, eased by the slide of the lube, and Aaron sees galaxies.  
  
“Oh fuck,” he says, disbelieving. This shouldn’t feel this good. It’s not like he’s never gotten handjobs before—there was Stephanie, and now there’s Katelyn. And Aaron jerks off as much as any perpetually-exhausted pre-med student athlete can. He knows, logically, that a hand is a hand, and it’s unrealistic to expect to feel the difference beyond broad characteristics.

And yet.

 _Oh, fuck,_ his brain repeats uselessly back to him as his toes curl. It keeps trying to convince him that he can make out the bumps at the base of Andrew’s fingers every time they drag against him. Andrew’s hand is _literally_ the same size as Aaron’s own but it seems so much bigger, covering Aaron from root to tip as he strokes.  
  
Maybe it’s because he thought he’d never get to have this.  
  
Andrew twists his grip and Aaron jackknives off the bed, pleasure bolting up his spine. “Sorry,” he says, forcing himself to relax, and then Andrew does it again, and Aaron can’t help himself. His knees knock into Andrew’s hips. He should feel bad but it’s impossible for anything to feel bad right now. It’s so much, and Aaron can’t take it but he absolutely can’t take it stopping, he needs something to hold on to, someone--  
  
“Shh,” Andrew hisses against Aaron’s ear. “Stop being so fucking dramatic. Shoulders and above. Don’t pull my hair.”  
  
Aaron tries to speak and can’t. All that comes out is the clicking hitch of his throat. He wraps a desperate arm around Andrew’s shoulders and buries his face in the side of Andrew’s neck, pressing the taut line of his lips to the warm skin. God, he can feel the subtle bunching of Andrew’s muscles as he jacks him off. Aaron is burning from the inside out; all that is left of him will be ash and pure white bone.  
  
“Come on, Aaron,” Andrew says softly, and that’s enough. A single tear slips down Aaron's cheek as he spills noiselessly into Andrew’s hand. He can’t stop shaking, after. Andrew tries to kiss him but Aaron’s mouth won’t respond to his commands.  
  
Far, far sooner than he’d like to, Aaron lets Andrew go and drops his arms and legs back to the mattress. He’s trying to learn not to take too much from his brother. To his surprise Andrew lingers, scrutinizing Aaron’s face, before heaving himself off and to the floor. Aaron wonders if Andrew’s expecting him to tell him how great he was. That seems like the kind of thing Neil would do after sex.  
  
Speaking of, Neil looks positively delighted, hands cradled close to his chest like he’s holding something precious. He and Andrew have one of their silent-eyefuck conversations and then Andrew heads stiffly in the direction of the bathroom. Aaron still doesn’t look to see if he’s turned on, but it’s a near thing.  
  
“Have a good time?” Neil chirps, angling an insouciant chin at Aaron. Aaron pulls a face at him and looks around for tissues, or something; there’s no telling how long Andrew will be in the bathroom, and Aaron’s not going to lie here with cum drying in his underwear while Andrew works through his sexual trauma.  
  
Neil isn’t done (when is he ever?). “You’re good for him,” he says. “I’m saying it once, so remember it.”  
  
A lump of emotion rises in Aaron’s throat. It’s not fair that those words should spark such relief behind his eyelids. “Yeah, well, what do you know?”  
  
“Nothing,” says Neil brightly, and pitches a box of Kleenex with expert precision to hit Aaron in the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Neither Aaron nor Andrew can believe that the other is giving them this, here, and I have a lot of feelings about it


End file.
